Tchin-Sing, whose heart was bursting with love for the reflection
seen from the pavilion, refused decidedly. His father, carried
away with passion, heaped upon him the most violent imprecations.

"Undutiful child," said he, "if you persist in your obstinacy, I
will have you confined in one of the strongest fortresses of the
empire, where you will see nothing but the sea beating against
the rocks, and the mountains covered with mist. There you will
have leisure to reflect, and repent of your wicked conduct."

These threats did not frighten Tchin-Sing in the least. He
quickly replied that he would accept for his wife the first
maiden who touched his heart, and until then he should listen to
no one.

The next day, at the same hour, he went to the pavilion on
the lake, and, leaning on the balcony, eagerly watched for the
beloved reflection. In a few moments he saw it glisten in the
water, beauteous as a boquet of submerged flowers.

A radiant smile broke over the face of the reflection, which
proved to Tchin-Sing that his presence was not unpleasant to the
lovely unknown. But as it was impossible to hold communication
with a reflection whose substance is invisible, he made a sign
that he would write, and vanished into the interior of the
pavilion. He soon reappeared, bearing in his hand a silvered
paper, upon which he had written a declaration of love in
seven-syllabled stanzas. He carefully folded his verses and
placed them in the cup of a white flower, which he rolled in a
leaf of the water-lily, and placed the whole tenderly upon the